


Good

by Ever-so-reylo (Ever_So_Reylo)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dating, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Love at First Sight, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 11:25:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16085168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ever_So_Reylo/pseuds/Ever-so-reylo
Summary: He didn’t mean to start dating. People like Ben should never date—not unless they’re doing it with other people like Ben, which is still in no way a desirable scenario.





	Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [obsessivepropulsive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivepropulsive/gifts).



> For obsessivepropulsive, who is awesome and funny and smart and can always be counted on when it's time to perv out. I hope we'll be reading Reylo porn together for many years to come. Here, have this absolute trash as a token of my love and affection ❤❤❤ Happy Birthday!
> 
> (This story was made significantly less crappy by [monsterleadmehome](https://monsterleadmehome.tumblr.com/), who is also very awesome!)

 

He gets an inkling the first time they go out for coffee, at a Starbucks exactly halfway between his office and the shop she works at. Outside the wide windows, the tree leaves are already more yellow than green. Rey throws back her head, takes the last sip of her pumpkin spice latte, and then throws the paper cup in the trash can.

The bin is at least ten feet away, but she hits the target perfectly.

“That was impressive,” Ben tells her, meaning it.

She is young and funny and assertive; clearly confident, self-assured. He expects her to either agree and laugh it up, or to simply downplay it. Instead, she looks down at her hands and flushes, a delicate pink that brightens her freckles and lights up his day.

_Oh_ , he thinks. 

 

…

 

He didn’t mean to start dating. People like Ben should never date—not unless they’re doing it with _other_ people like Ben, which is still in no way a desirable scenario. Most definitely, people like him should not be allowed anywhere near beautiful girls ten years their junior who use their spare time canvassing for their democratic socialist candidate, talk enthusiastically about the CSA they just joined, and have opinions about 90s chick-rock music. It seems like a bad idea. But then Phasma brings Rey up during an exec meeting, right as Hux is droning on and on about multiplatforms and pro-active alignment, and it’s not as if Ben can stand up and leave.

“What kind of name is _Rey_?” he whispers.

“She’s very young and pretty. And intelligent. And British. And despite all of this, surprisingly not annoying.” 

Ben doesn’t point out that none of this answers his question. “I don’t date.”

“You know—I have no idea why, since I have zero interest in playing matchmaker and the world is not a bloody Jane Austen novel, but every time I talk to her all that comes to mind is that she’d be perfect for you. It’s the weirdest thing.”

Ben thinks that it’s indeed quite weird, though he’s too intimidated by her to even vaguely entertain the idea of saying it out loud.

Phasma sighs, irritated either at herself or at Ben—who knows. “Just take her out on a single date, will you? Make me happy for once.”

Then Snoke turns towards them, and asks Ben to give his opinion about potential strategies to “transform traction, and demonstrate meta performance in alignment.” Left without a choice, Ben quickly nods in Phasma’s direction, and focuses on tearing Hux’s presentation a new hole.

 

…

 

He cared so little that he didn’t even ask Phasma to send a picture of the girl in advance, which in hindsight might have been enough to prepare him for having the entirety of his air supply knocked out of his lungs.

“Hi. You’re Ben?” 

His first instinct is to deny it and flee the premises. He cannot possibly sustain a conversation with this girl—Woman? She seems young. Too young. Too… everything. He knows he should stand and shake her hand and maybe pull out her chair, but he can only nod like the dysfunctional idiot that he is and try to scrape his jaw off the floor. 

“I’m Rey.” She slides into the seat in front of him, looking cheerful and happy.

Ben did not think auto mechanics wore flowing sundresses with floral patterns, or had red lips, or could smile that wide. He truly had no idea.

“Uh. Hi.”

“Hi.” She smiles even wider, and peers into his cup. “What did you get?”

What did he—Oh. “Just coffee.” It took him three minutes to order it. To decline the seemingly never-ending parade of cream and milk and sugar and useless flavors that the barista kept offering him. “Normal coffee.”

Rey takes a sip of her drink and smiles knowingly. “You don’t like Starbucks much, do you?”

It seems safe to grimace, and it is. She laughs, and then—it’s almost easy, after that. They talk a lot, disagree on most of the topics that come up, and it becomes clear very quickly, how out of his league she is. Ben is not worthy of being anywhere near her, but he cannot remember the last time he was in someone’s company and didn’t feel the need to check his watch every two minutes, wondering if it was too early to leave yet. 

Still, this cannot possibly work. Phasma asked for one date, this counts as precisely one date, anything else would be just ludicrous. This girl deserves better than him— _everyone_ deserves better, but this girl deserves more than _anyone_.

And then he gives her one tiny, small compliment, and her cheeks dust with red, and yeah. 

Ben is not _that_ strong.

 

…

 

Asking her out for dinner seems like a good idea—maybe a movie, too. Ben doesn’t much like to eat, or to watch, but she is worth the chore. He’s composed about thirteen drafts for a text when she messages him herself.

 

<Hey>

<It’s Rey. From Starbucks. Phasma’s friend?>

<Would you like to play doubles against my friends this weekend?>

 

Ben spends two days intensely regretting having mentioned that he played tennis through college. Then, on Saturday afternoon, he gets to the court and sees her smile and hold out a racket to him, and it’s as if all his brain cells cease bitching at once.

“My friends are over there.” She tugs at his t-shirt, and suddenly Ben can’t breathe very well. “You’ll love them.”

He doesn’t. And they don’t particularly love him, either, but that’s business as usual. It doesn’t matter much, because Rey plays better than anyone he’s seen in a long time, and the things that miraculously Ben hasn’t forgotten how to do in the past ten years seem to complement her abilities very well. They fall into a surprisingly seamless rhythm. They’re solid. They win.

At the end of the first match, while Poe and Finn are on the other half of the court discussing whose fault it is that they are getting their asses handed to them, Ben nods in thanks as Rey passes him her water bottle.

“That was good,” he tells her, low enough that they can’t be overheard. 

“Was it?” Rey asks, brushing nonexistent specks off her clothes. He has been trying not to stare, with mixed-to-poor success. It still feels like a considerable feat.

“Yes. You’re really good.”

“I guess…” She smiles shyly and shifts her grip on her racket. “I guess I can be good.”

She smells like soap, and sweat, and the patch of grass in which she and Poe laid down before the game started, while Ben and Finn looked at them skeptically muttering about spiders crawling and bug bites. 

“Can you? Be good?”

She looks him in the eyes and nods, and Ben is not even sure what to… things like this, things like _Rey_ , they just don’t happen to him.

“Hey.” Suddenly, Poe’s voice sounds much closer than Ben thought him to be. “I hope the two of you know that you’re only winning because you have, like, eleven inches combined on us.”

Rey spins around. “Tell you what: we’ll give you one bonus point for every inch.”

“Deal!”

Ben and Rey still win the game. And the following one.

 

…

 

The following day he does take her out for dinner, and stares at her as she locks the door of her apartment.

“I like your dress,” he tells her.

Rey smiles and looks up at him, teeth biting in her lower lip. “Thank you.”

He hesitates for a moment, and then adds, “You are beautiful.” He’s trying it out. He has never said the words before, never thought of them, really, but he hopes they feel as nice when heard as they do when Ben lets them out of his head.

He notices her fingers tighten around the keys.

 

…

 

“I don’t date a lot,” she explains while spearing one each of her salad ingredients with her fork. She likes green olives, she said, but not the black ones. Ben pointed out that they all taste the same, and she said no, no way, _totally_ different—and they do this a lot. Talking. About inconsequential things. Ben is not used to it: having long, involved conversations in which terms like _tertile_ or _productivity gains_ or _fiscal policy_ don’t make even a cursory appearance. In which he actually finds himself laughing.

“It’s not that I…” She breathes deeply, and ends up not taking the bite that she carefully prepared. “Basically, it doesn’t seem to be worth it.”

Ben nods. He usually finds dating as pleasant as orthopedic surgery without anesthesia. If it weren’t for Rey sitting in front of him, he’d likely want to flip the restaurant table by now.

“But Phasma is pretty much the only client we have who doesn’t come into the shop and try to explain to me how an external combustion engine works, so I wanted to be nice. And then…”

She gestures vaguely at him, her fork forgotten on her plate. Ben gets it. He didn’t want _this_ either, but here it is. Like a shiny, iridescent creature that just flew into his palm and is impossible to let go. 

“Yeah,” he says.

 

…

 

He _does_ like her dress—he thinks it’s pretty and the color is nice, blue but an odd blue that maybe is not even blue, maybe it’s just green—which is somewhat surprising, because ordinarily he doesn’t think about what women wear. Or about women at all. This dress, though, it looks like it’d be so easy to get underneath, and it is: Ben can slide his hand up her thigh, and gently push her underwear to the side. It’s as smooth as fish swimming downstream. 

She exhales and leans her forehead against his shoulder.

“Are you sure—you don’t want that coffee?” Her voice—she already doesn’t quite sound like herself. “I could make it taste really foul, black and bitter just the way you—” Ben nips at her jaw. “Oh.”

Her lips part when he circles his fingers around her clit, up and down her sweet cunt that is somehow already wet, and she gasps and winces when he tentatively slides the tip of his index finger inside her. It’s a tight fit. 

“Too much?” he murmurs into her hair, and _yes_ , of course it’s too much, she asked him to take it slowly earlier and here he is, a moment away from bending her over and doing her in the entrance of her apartment. This is going _great_. He makes to pull back, but she grabs his arm, hands curling around his tricep through his black sweater.

“No,” she breathes.

“We don’t have to—”

She holds his arm tighter to herself, a second _’No’_ clearly implied in the way she has started to grind herself on his finger. Ben’s cock jumps in his jeans, and he feels his control over himself slip a little.

“Are you sure?” She is so wet, he could maybe fit another finger. If they worked at it a little. But he also wants to go on his knees and lick her cunt, see how it looks with his own eyes. He bets it’s smooth and plump. He bets she tastes like fruit. He bets he can part her right in two with his tongue. “Because you feel so small.”

“Do I?” Her eyes fall shut, and the back of her head hits the wall behind her.

“Yes.”

“Is that—bad?”

He hooks his finger a little, and her breathing becomes harsher. He can’t help it, so he grinds himself against her waist, and they both groan. “It’s not. It’s good. It’s like the best thing that has ever happened to me—but it feels better than that.”  This is already more that Ben has ever spoken during sex in his entire life, but she looks like she needs to hear it, like she really does, and it’s so easy, with her clit under his thumb and her hands shaking around his bicep, to let the filter between his brain his mouth dissolve.

“You look incredible, like this.” He leans into her a little more. “You look like I’m about to make you come.”

She nods quickly and licks her lips. He thinks she might say something, but she remains silent. It doesn’t matter, because her breathing is loud enough to fill the room.

“You look like you need it so much.” 

She nods again, and he could conceivably come just from this. From feeling her clench and flutter around his lone finger, from the way she’s hugging herself around his arm as if it were a lifeboat. He thinks that he probably will.

“Look at you,” he grunts on her cheek. His hand, her inner thighs—it’s all so wet. “Look at you, taking it. Being so good.”

The way she comes apart, suddenly warmer and tighter and sweeter, makes his brain stutter. She lets out a sweet little groan, and bites his shoulder, and Ben wishes he had thought of taking off his clothes, or hers. That he had better words to carry her through this.

At the end of her orgasm, she exhales a shaky laugh and blinks her eyes open. “Wow.”

Ben hasn’t come yet and his cock is pounding, but—it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. 

Well. Rey matters.

“Oh. Have we kissed, yet?” she asks, a little dazed.

He shakes his head. 

Rey smiles, lets go of his bicep, and pulls him down to her.

 

…

  

He leans forward over the conference table and distractedly chooses a donut filled with some sort of red jelly, thinking about the night before, about how Rey insisted on walking him downstairs, about the fact that they ended up spending one hour arguing about the state of higher education in the front seats of his car. And then another making out like teenagers.

“What the hell is _that_?”

Ben looks around, and realizes that he and Phasma are alone in the room. Which means that she must be talking to him.

“What?”

She points at his plastic plate, grimacing.

“It’s a… donut?”

“Since when do you eat  _donuts_?”

“I—”

“Or food in general?”

“What do you—” 

Hux comes into the conference room, looking as pristine as no one ever should at 7:45 on a Monday morning, and abruptly stops a few feet from them.

“Why is Solo _eating_?”

“I _know_.” Phasma looks pained.

“Is this some kind of mindfuck to throw me off before my presentation? Because if so, fuck _you_.”

Ben narrows his eyes. “I am hungry.”

Bazine comes in, high heels clicking on the floor, and takes her usual seat next to Ben.

“Snoke’s PA said he’ll be a minute late—Oh. Ben. You’re having a donut? Are you—Is everything alright?”

The red filling turns out to be strawberry. His favorite.

 

…

 

The wet noise as she removes her mouth from his cock is the most erotic moment of Ben’s entire life, by far. Something out of this world, that he stores away in the back of his mind to examine later, to split apart in a million details and commit to memory in case a time comes when Rey is not available to him anymore. 

The prospect is daunting—even though he has only met her about a week ago.

“Good?’ she ask, looking up at him.

His thoughts are unfocused for a moment, but he manages to dig himself out of the soup of pleasure his brain has melted into.

“Good.” He isn’t going to last long. It’s been years, and it was never like this anyway. It’s all he can do not to thrust up in Rey’s throat when she smiles shyly and continues working on the head.

“You do it so well,” he rasps out. His hand leaves the edge of the counter and twines in her hair, tilting her head back a little. “Maybe you were made for this. Just for this.”

Rey moans around his cock, and the vibrations work on him like a charm. There is no sensible reason to be doing this in his kitchen. They should move to a bed or a similarly horizontal surface, because his knees are about to give out.

“Ah.” She does something with her throat that feels like black magic, and his eyes roll back and cross in his head. “There’s a good girl.”  He will wank to this for the rest of his life.

After, he picks her up and kisses her swollen lips. “Thank you,” he tells her. She tastes like his come and the chocolate cake she had for dessert. “That’s what I needed.”

Ben sees Rey’s delighted smile before she can hide it in his neck.

 

…

 

He didn’t think he was the type to… yeah. He didn’t think he was the type to do a whole lot of things, but clearly he was wrong on at least a few, because he shows up at her shop unannounced in the middle of a work day, carrying a pumpkin chai tea whose order was a highly traumatizing process, hoping against hope that she won’t kick him out. Trying not to think about the astonishment on his admin assistant’s face when he said he’d be out for a couple of hours for personal reasons. 

The garage smells like grease and gasoline, but in an oddly clean and pleasant way. It’s a scent that Ben has discovered in its faintest form, mixed with salt and lotion, in the hidden nooks and crannies of Rey’s body—the crease of her thighs, the dimples on the small of her back, the valley between her breasts. She is talking with someone now, her hands in the pocket of her overalls.

“You did such a great job,” the man is saying. “All considered, you know? And you’re so young, too. I am impressed.”

“Well, thank you. That didn’t sound condescending at all.” Her tone is mild. “You can talk with Kaydel for the bill.” She sounds resigned. She sounds like this happens all the time. And she looks tired. 

Maybe coming here was a bad idea. Maybe the tea he brought will help. It could go both ways.  Ben _hates_  it, the insecurity, the messiness of this. People, relationships, the thought of Rey being anything less than happy. Caring.

“Have you been helped?” A short girl comes towards him, wiping grease off her hands with a not-quite-clean rag.

“I—No.”

“What can I—”

“I’m here to see Rey.”

There is a long, assessing, slightly suspicious glance. Ben must pass muster, or maybe the girl just decides that she doesn’t care, because: “Rey! There’s someone here for you!”

Rey turns around towards him, and her face broadens into a grin. A knot pulls loose inside Ben’s chest, and suddenly he doesn’t hate this anymore, not quite as much.

 

…

 

They fit together so well, it’s a confirmation of sorts.

Still, the pleasure is a little disorienting at first. He needs a minute to ground himself, to come to terms with the fact that he’s inside her. Fucking, this is called. Maybe. Ben isn’t sure.

“This is so good,” he says in the skin of her temple. “Your cunt. It feels _so_ good. Even better than I imagined.”

In response, her body lets him sink half and inch or so deeper, and they both groan in a mix of wonder and surprise. Her skin is tacky already, and his is wet with sweat. He can feel a drop of it slide down his cheek— _gross_ , he thinks, but Rey notices and curves her head upwards to lick it, making his cock about thirty times harder. Whatever Ben figured sex was before this, before her—he was way off the mark.

“You’re—” _So perfect. Stretched so tight. The best fuck anyone could ever imagine, and for some reason you’re mine._ _Truly astounding._

Rey seems to know because she nods, stupefied. 

Maybe Ben waited too much. Maybe this is going to be over in less than a second. He is inside her as far as he can go, and Rey looks like she needs another moment to get used to him, but he can’t force his hips to stay still so he moves—just once, shallow and uncertain. It’s enough.

“That— _Ah_.” Rey’s fingers dig into the muscles of his shoulders. “That’s…” The word dissolves into a sigh. 

“Yeah.”

The second thrust is not so shallow, and the third bumps against something inside her. She doesn’t protest, just grows somehow wetter and tighter and more pliant, and turns her face on the pillow.

“What a good girl,” he says against the rim of her ear. “Taking what I give you.”

The way she moans, it might be his new favorite sound. Something liquid and warm is tingling at the base of his spine, coiling tightly in his balls.

“Thank you. For letting me fuck you.”

It might just be what sets her off.

 

…

 

“Hey.”

He looks up from his computer to see Phasma in the door to his office, one hand against the frame.

“Hey.”

“So, did you ever end up going out with that girl? My car mechanic?”

It occurs to Ben that the last time he heard Phasma talk about Rey, he had no idea someone like Rey existed in the world. That there was such a moment, in his near past. It’s an oddly earth-shaking realization. “Yes.”

Phasma nods, looking like it’s not new information to her. More like the confirmation of a gut feeling. “Mmm.”

“Did you need anything?”

She leans against the doorjamb, looking comfortable and at ease. “How did it go?”

He turns his chair, because this conversation is obviously not going to be as short as he’d like.

“How did what go?”

Phasma rolls her eyes like she sometimes does, as ever put-upon by what he once heard her refer to as ‘Solo’s occasional slow-wittedness.’ “The date. With the car mechanic?”

“Ah.” 

Ben wonders which date she means. The first, the second, the third. He has no idea how to count those times when she spent the night, how to tease apart the evenings filled with stupid TV shows from the mornings in which she made breakfast for him. Does the past week, seven days of Rey putting off going back to her own place and only wearing an old t-shirt of Ben’s around the house, count as one single long date? It stands to reason that running one hand down her spine, calling her his pretty girl as he fucks into her, is qualitatively not the same as sitting on the floor helping her put together her new bookshelf. But who knows? 

Ben certainly doesn’t. So he just swallows against the dryness in his throat. 

“Good. It was good.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me [on Twitter! 💕](https://twitter.com/EverSoReylo)
> 
> Please check out this amazing [moodboard](https://obsessivepropulsive.tumblr.com/post/178466193432/to-be-honest-i-am-not-even-remotely-sure-what-i) that monsterleadmehome and obsessivepropulsive made! ♡♡♡


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